Emma's Journey
by LucyQT
Summary: A trip to Town in Mr. Knightley's new curricle to visit her sister teaches Emma Woodhouse a few things she didn't know about life, love and Mr. Knightley. Regency, canon. Story takes place after Frank Churchill is recalled to Enscombe and before he returns to Highbury.
_"Be satisfied," said he, "I will not raise any outcry. I will keep my ill-humour to myself. I have a very sincere interest in Emma. Isabella does not seem more my sister; has never excited a greater interest; perhaps hardly so great. There is an anxiety, a curiosity in what one feels for Emma. I wonder what will become of her!"_

 _"So do I," said Mrs. Weston gently, "very much."_

 _"She always declares she will never marry, which, of course, means just nothing at all. But I have no idea that she has yet ever seen a man she cared for. It would not be a bad thing for her to be very much in love with a proper object. I should like to see Emma in love, and in some doubt of a return; it would do her good. But there is nobody hereabouts to attach her; and she goes so seldom from home."_

\- Jane Austen, _Emma_

* * *

Emma peered out the door for the third time that morning, looked west and then east, and then withdrew back into the hall. Still no Mr. Knightley!

She glanced at the clock. Ten o'clock, he had said. It was only five to ten. She sat down on the upholstered bench and studied her gloves, then sprang up again and peered out the window. Mrs. Squerryes, the housekeeper, passing through the hall, gave her a sympathetic glance.

"He'll come, miss, never worry. Mr. Knightley is always so punctual."

At exactly one minute to the hour, a gleaming curricle drawn by a pair of proud Yorkshire bays rounded the corner and came up the drive. Emma bounded out the front door carrying her little case, the footman following behind with her main bag. She reached the bottom of the stair at the same moment the horses came to a neat stop at the door.

"Oh, Mr. Knightley, it is beautiful!" said Emma ecstatically, rising on her toes and clasping her hands, her eyes eagerly surveying the shiny brass fittings and the plush green velvet seat for two. "It is just perfect, and in Donwell colours too!"

"I am glad you like it, Emma," said Mr. Knightley with a smile. He jumped down from the high carriage and doffed his hat. Peering behind Emma at her father and her former governess, now neighbour, he said, "Good morning, Mr. Woodhouse, Mrs. Weston. How do you like my new curricle?"

"Oh dear," said Mr. Woodhouse, looking worried as he shambled out of the house. "It is very high up. And the wheels are quite large. I think it must go very fast. I do not think it can be safe. You must have had a very rough ride, Mr. Knightley."

"Rough! Smooth as silk, sir. The handling is excellent and the horses are well-trained, with excellent manners. I matched them myself. There is nothing to fear."

"And then it is open, so very open," said Mr. Woodhouse fretfully. "One would be exposed to such a draught and would surely catch a cold. It may be all right for a gentleman, but young ladies are delicate plants. Emma, I beg you to think again. It is too great a risk. You must not go. Mr. Knightley will explain to poor Isabella that you were unable to go."

"Oh, Papa!" Emma flew to her father's side and said soothingly, "It is such a warm day, with not a breath of wind. You must not worry. It is only one night and I will be back before you know. And really, I must go. You know Isabella and John and the children are expecting me now. They would be so disappointed if I did not come."

It would be her first time seeing her sister in her house at Brunswick Square, and the first time she had been to Town since she was a small child, though it was not 20 miles away.

Mrs. Weston, at Mr. Woodhouse's side, made a chorus of reassurance. At last, by dint of dwelling on Isabella's disappointment and Mr. Knightley's presence as a guarantee of safe conduct, Mr. Woodhouse was persuaded to see that this trip might not be such a very bad thing.

Mr. Knightley spoke up cheerfully. "We had best be off, sir. The longer we wait, the worse the traffic gets. You have all your things, Emma? Good."

Mr. Knightley gave Emma a hand up, then seated himself and clucked the horses into motion before Mr. Woodhouse could give voice to more second thoughts. Emma turned in her seat to wave good-bye to Mr. Woodhouse and Mrs. Weston as her father continued to remonstrate with her to keep her veil on and stay well wrapped up.

As soon as they were out of sight of Hartfield, Mr. Knightley put the horses into a brisk trot and Emma lifted her veil and pushed aside the lap robe. It was far too fine a day for such things. As they passed through the village, heads turned and boys came running to see the shiny new curricle bearing the leading personages of their respective parishes.

 _This_ is how it should be, Emma thought as she enjoyed the spectacle they made. It had never sat right with her that Mr. Knightley should so frequently humble himself to go on horseback or walk about the country like some common man. It was all right among the local residents, who already knew him to be the model of what every English gentleman should be. However, a stranger in these parts might fail to recognize his quality and give him less than his due.

"This is travelling in style, Mr. Knightley," Emma said as they left Highbury and hit the turnpike road. "Now are you not glad you took my advice and purchased a stylish carriage? _Now_ you look like a true gentleman and the Master of Donwell Abbey!"

Mr. Knightley lifted his eyebrows and smiled at her teasing. "I am sorry to disabuse you of such a pretty notion, Emma, but your advice had nothing to do with it. It is a move I had been contemplating for some time."

"Oh! Certainly, certainly," said Emma gaily, not believing him in the least. "But you must admit that you made the acquisition for fashion and not function. If it was merely a matter of getting about, you could go horseback or take your coach."

"I must inform you that you are mistaken again, Emma. My design in getting this curricle was primarily functional. I gave little thought to fashion or appearances."

She turned to him, amused. She had him this time!

"I think you will have difficulty making that case, Mr. Knightley. What is functional about a flashy chariot that only holds two? And there is nothing functional about those horses. They are the very epitome of high fashion. If Frank Churchill was to purchase a carriage, this is exactly the thing he would want."

"Actually, Emma, I thought the curricle would help me with my work. I have been needing to transport items that makes going horseback going impracticable, and it was slowing me down to take the coach. With this, I do not need to wait for my coachman or hired horses, but can be off at any time. And it makes sense to keep two horses where it did not to have four."

"I see." Emma was a little annoyed. Why could he not just let her be right for once? Surely some part of him enjoyed being the fine gentleman.

"So Frank Churchill is thinking of purchasing a curricle?" said Mr. Knightley casually, his eyes fixed on the road ahead of him.

"Oh! Yes. He speaks of it often."

"Speaks? You have seen him recently, then?" said Mr. Knightley sharply.

"Oh! No, I have not seen him since he left Highbury more than two months ago," said Emma.

She blushed a little as she thought of their parting meeting. Frank Churchill had been agitated, quite agitated. He must have been on the verge of confessing his feelings for her. Many times she had thought of the fine words with which she would couch her response to him had he offered, but overall, she was glad to have been spared the necessity of speaking.

Emma looked up to see Mr. Knightley scrutinizing her. Something in his piercing blue eyes made her blush harder. Did he suspect … ?

"If you have not seen him, how do you know he wishes for a curricle, Emma?" Mr. Knightley asked.

"From his letters, of course. He writes about it at length."

"His _letters_? You are corresponding with him then?"

"Correspond-! No, of course not, Mr. Knightley! I know better than to correspond with a man unless I was engaged to him. I hope you think better of my judgment than _that_ ," said Emma indignantly. She was stung by the shocked, almost angry tone of his voice. Truly, did he think her that ignorant? "His letters to Mrs. Weston, of course."

"Oh." Beside her, Mr. Knightley suddenly slumped in his seat. "Of course. His letters to Mrs. Weston."

"Yes, it is no more news than anybody might have of Frank Churchill. If you had shown even passing interest in him instead of grimacing every time his name is mentioned, Mr. Weston would be regaling you with the minutest details of his every doings, you may be sure."

Emma's tone was teasing again as she tried to find her way to the easy camaraderie they had always shared. She could not quite understand Mr. Knightley these days. He did not strike her as a mercurial man, and yet his moods seemed so changeable of late. It was as if he was guarding his thoughts and his heart from her.

"I may count myself lucky that I have no interest on that score, then," Mr. Knightley said dryly, then fixing her with his gaze again. "But _you_ , Emma. I take it that you show passing interest in Frank Churchill?"

"Well, of course. Who would not take an interest in him? You must admit he is one of the more interesting personages that Highbury can lay claim to." She smiled mischievously, thinking of Highbury's extremely limited society. "However, if you are asking whether I take a _particular_ interest in him, I can assure you that it is not so."

"Is it indeed?" cried Mr. Knightley. "And do you mean – no, I understand you. You do not wish to say too much."

"Only because there is nothing to say!" said Emma, for some reason feeling that it was important for Mr. Knightley to know the true state of things between her and Frank Churchill. "That is, I cannot vouch for his … and I do suspect … which is unfortunate. But I have searched _my_ feelings, and I think I may say with some certainty that Frank Churchill and I are destined to remain friends, nothing more."

"Ah," Mr. Knightley smiled. His posture relaxed and he looked out over the sunny, grassy downs threaded with so many tiny wildflowers they seemed to form a blue mist over the green. "Beautiful day, is it not?"

"Yes, lovely," said Emma sincerely, glad to see him resume his normally cheerful manner. "And perfect for travelling. There is not a speck of dust and it is so warm."

Emma fanned herself. After a moment's reflection, she shrugged off her spencer and then, after another moment, unpinned her hat and dropped it to her side. Mr. Knightley turned to look at her for a moment, his eyes lingering on the golden curls that had slipped out of the gathered knot and were caressing her white neck as the breeze played with them. She smiled at him.

"Papa would not be happy if he sees me, I suppose, but it is too fine a day for so many layers."

"Just so," Mr. Knightley agreed.

He too freed himself from his light overcoat and stowed his beaver hat under the seat. The breeze ruffled his thick, glossy dark hair. Emma had always liked Mr. Knightley's hair. It was not curly, exactly, but it had a nice wave, and she liked how he wore it a little long, brushing the back of his collar. She recalled how Frank Churchill had gone all the way to Town for a haircut only and how irritated Mr. Knightley had been with this evidence of dandyism. Of course, it was easy for Mr. Knightley to judge, when he had such nice hair without half-trying.

They conversed amiably for a while, talking of their various plans that spring for the home farm and gardens at Donwell and Hartfield, until Mr. Knightley said:

"I must say, Emma, I am glad to hear that you had not thought seriously of Frank Churchill. I never thought that young man deserving of any woman of character and refinement, much less Miss Woodhouse of Hartfield."

"Oh!" said Emma smiling. "Mr. Knightley, I do not think we share the same mind on this matter. _I_ have no fault to find with Frank Churchill. He is a fine young man and a good match for many women. Was I to be tempted into matrimony, I am sure that I would consider him. But I have no intention of ever marrying at all."

"No?" Mr. Knightley was silent for a while, then said, "A pretty young woman of twenty may well think so, Emma, but you may find it a difficult principle to adhere to as time goes on. You have seen but little of the world."

"Indeed not, Mr. Knightley," said Emma indignantly. "I may not have seen much of the world, but I do not think I need to in order to know my own mind. I know that a woman in my position is fortunate indeed and would be a fool to change her situation for matrimony. With my father I am always first in all things. I could not be more the mistress of my husband's estate than I am of Hartfield."

"Perhaps not, Emma, but there are other things that a husband may provide that a father does not."

"Such as?"

"Do you really need me to say it?" A touch of frustration crept into his tone.

"You mean children, I suppose." At his silence, Emma continued gravely, "Yes, children may be important in a woman's life. But my life is full of children, Mr. Knightley. I have five dear nephews and nieces who are ever eager to be at Hartfield to be spoiled by their Aunt Emma. With such richness, how can I feel the lack?"

"Not only children," said Mr. Knightley. "There are other things of importance that occur between a man and a woman, Emma. Such as … "

"Such as?"

"Such as … companionship."

"Companionship!" said Emma. "Yes, I suppose women sometimes do marry for companionship. Mr. and Mrs. Weston, for example, do seem to enjoy each other's company. But not every married couple is like that. Take my sister and your brother, for example. John is quite wrapped up in his work and Isabella in the children and the nursery maids. I do not know that that is any great example of male and female companionship. Although" – she added thoughtfully – "they certainly seem happy after their fashion."

"I beg you not to draw parallels between John and Isabella's present situation and the state of matrimony in general, Emma," he said. "They are at a stage where both must be absorbed in their separate interests. Both John's work as a barrister and their family has expanded rapidly. It is no more than the necessary splitting of duties so that everything may be done. You know that they enjoy each other's company greatly when they have time away from the children."

"Yes, I suppose that is true, Mr. Knightley," said Emma. "But it still does not prove your point that marriage affords a woman _more_ companionship than she would receive were she to remain unmarried. Look at us, for example."

"Us?" said Mr. Knightley, arching a questioning eyebrow as he scrutinized her again.

"Yes, us. We are great friends. Do you imagine that we would be able to remain so if either of us were to be married? Would we not lose out on the companionship we have enjoyed to date? I do not imagine any man I might marry would be content for you to visit at all hours as you do, nor would a Mrs. Knightley be happy with your absence from home every evening to visit me and my father at Hartfield. It would take a great deal of companionship to make up for what we would lose."

Mr. Knightley heaved a sigh of frustration and shook his head slowly, then looked at her. "You cannot keep the world the same forever, Emma."

"Why not?" said Emma. "When it is so pleasant just as it is."

"Pleasant for you, perhaps."

"Not pleasant for you?"

"Well, as John likes to remind me, I am no longer in the first flush of my youth," he said with a wry smile. "I suppose I should settle down at some time."

"Oh! No, no, no, Mr. Knightley," said Emma in distress. "Indeed, no, you should not feel in any rush. I am sure you have plenty of time. You are still a comparatively young man. And you know, you do not have to marry at all, ever. You can simply look after the estate and Henry can have it after you. You know how little Henry loves farming. And that way we may always be friends." She said the last in a satisfied tone.

Mr. Knightley rolled his eyes and said nothing, looking back out over the road. They drove a while in silence, Emma admiring how Mr. Knightley handled the horses, the reins held capably in one gloved hand while the other flicked the whip over the horses' backs but without ever touching them. She had not been aware that Mr. Knightley knew how to drive a coach, but on the other hand, she was not surprised that he did it extremely well. Was he not good at everything he set his mind to?

Presently, Mr. Knightley said, "The horses need a breather. I am going to stop at an inn up ahead. It is quite a good one. I thought you might like to stop for refreshment?"

Emma was not hungry, but as she had never been in a coaching inn, she assented readily to the plan.

The curricle pulled off the main road. It passed through an arch hung with a sign of a red phoenix and into the courtyard of a picturesque inn, baskets of red and yellow flowers gracing each of the white balconies that rose over the square. The curricle's arrival sent stable boys scurrying to see. A hostler came out to greet them with a broad grin on his face.

"Oh, Mr. Knightley, sir! She's a beauty!" said the hostler. "Light as a feather and look at that paint! And those are a right pair of high steppers!"

"Good morning, Tom, I am glad you like it," said Mr. Knightley with an answering smile. He tossed the man the reins and sprang down from the curricle to help Emma out. As he led her toward the inn, he said over his shoulder, "Give them a good walk, Tom, I'm afraid I hit it a little hard. These turnpikes are too tempting."

"Absolutely sir!" Tom touched his hat.

They entered the dining room of the inn. Calls of "Sir!" and "Mr. Knightley!" and "Your worship!" rang out from various corners. Mr. Knightley greeted everybody courteously, with a bow and a smile.

It was an odd scene for Emma, unused as she was to seeing Mr. Knightley anywhere other than Hartfield, Highbury and Randalls, Mr. Weston's estate a quarter mile from Hartfield. She had not known he had such a large acquaintance, although of course it made sense with his work as a justice of the peace.

They were escorted to a pleasant table by a window and Mr. Knightley explained to Emma the bill of fare and how to make her selection to the young serving maid who attended them.

"Thank you, Sally," said Mr. Knightley after they gave their selection.

Emma glanced up in surprise at Mr. Knightley's use of the serving maid's first name. She had never heard him refer to any woman by her first name except for the women – or Isabella's little girls - in Emma's own family. Emma stole a second look at the retreating back of Sally. She was pretty, Emma supposed, with curling brown hair and a womanly figure. Did Mr. Knightley -? No, surely not.

Emma stole a glance at Mr. Knightley, who was gazing absently out the window at the view of the Surrey downs, his arms folded across his chest, his face in profile to her. Odd that she had never thought of Mr. Knightley with a woman. And yet, he was a handsome man. A very handsome man. One who would likely receive a fair degree of attention from the fairer sex. Suddenly, Emma felt uneasy.

They sat in silence, both lost in thought, until they were interrupted by a trio of men led by a middle-aged man who looked respectable if not quite gentlemanlike.

"Begging your pardon sir, and not meaning to interrupt," he said, twisting his cap in his hands, "but I heard that you was Mr. Knightley the magistrate and – well – we were just on our way to the Abbey to look for you. It's an urgent matter about things that – well, I should not say in the presence of a lady, but we were hoping we could get a warrant out. My son has gone after the sheriff and was to bring him to Donwell, but then I learnt you was here, which seems a piece of luck if you are willing to help us - and I am sorry to be interrupting you – "

"It is all right. Your name?"

"Thompson, sir."

"Mr. Thompson. Yes, I can help you. I have my seal with me and I believe Mr. Barrow, the proprietor here, keeps pen and paper in his office for just such a purpose. You can explain it to me as I do up the documents." Mr. Knightley rose, then turned back to Emma. "Emma, my dear, will you excuse me? I will not be long, and I will have a word with Sally to make sure she looks after you."

Emma nodded her acquiescence, curious at this further proof of the demands of Mr. Knightley's position. It seemed that everybody in Surrey knew him and felt entitled to accost him anywhere. Her eyes followed him as he stopped to speak to Sally and she saw Sally's respectful bob and her glance in Emma's direction. She was relieved to see there were no signs of greater intimacy between them than Mr. Knightley being a regular customer at this inn.

Emma sipped her tea and gazed out the window, contemplating the various new views of Mr. Knightley that were opening up to her on this journey. How odd that she had thought she knew him so well! And after all, she did know him well – as far as his life in Highbury went. It was just that she knew nothing of his life beyond Highbury's borders.

So lost in thought was she that she scarcely noticed when Sally arrived to refresh her tea and bring her order. She also did not hear a party enter and occupy the table behind her and remained oblivious to their chatter until the phrase "Mr. Knightley's curricle" caused her to prick up her ears.

"Yes, I am sure of it. I had it from the hostler," said a male voice that affected a bored, fashionable drawl.

"How delightful!" said a breathless female voice, husky with a thrilling timbre. "Just think, Sister, Mr. Knightley in a new curricle! How fine he must look! And what fun to be _all alone_ with Mr. Knightley in a carriage for two." She giggled. "I shall have to re-consider whether I really do wish to be the wife of a baronet, or whether 'mistress of Donwell Abbey' might not sound just as well if not a sight better."

"Perhaps you should wait until you can be sure it is _you_ in whom Mr. Knightley is interested before you begin imagining yourself as mistress of his estate," her sister replied rather petulantly.

"Oh! Flora. There is no need to show your jealousy so plainly. Not everyone can be the beauty in the family."

"Is that so?" said Flora spitefully. "We shall see who gets the first ride in Mr. Knightley's curricle!"

"Oh stop it," cut in their brother. "You two tire me out with your constant bickering over Knightley. Leave off, will you? I cannot imagine why a fellow like Knightley would waste his time with such silly girls as either of you."

"Oh! Frederick!" and "I shall tell Mama what you said!" his sisters shrieked in rage.

"Ha! Ask Knightley himself. Look, here he comes."

Emma had frozen to her seat in astonishment to hear this trio of unknown persons discuss Mr. Knightley in such intimate terms. Now she looked up to see Mr. Knightley enter the dining room from one of the hallways leading into the inn. His eyes found hers and he smiled a reassuring smile, but she saw his expression change to one of surprised recognition, then a smile of greeting, as he recognized the people behind her.

She turned around to look at them then. There were three, a young man and two young women as their voices indicated. The young man was handsome, fashionably dressed and looked a little older than Frank Churchill. The two young ladies were also decked out in every accoutrement demanded by society and looked a few years older than herself. One was handsome in a style Emma particularly admired, black-haired with high colour and a voluptuous figure. The other girl was attractive too, although in not nearly as showy a style as her sister.

"Mr. Aylmer. Miss Aylmer, Miss Flora," said Mr. Knightley courteously as he drew even with Emma. "What a pleasant surprise to run into you here. Your mother and father are well, I trust?"

"Just fine, Mr. Knightley, they are looking forward to seeing you tonight," said Aylmer. His gaze lingered appreciatively on Emma, who had risen and stood by Mr. Knightley's side to be introduced.

"Emma, may I introduce Mr. Frederick Aylmer and his sisters Miss Aylmer and Miss Flora Aylmer," Mr. Knightley said. "Their uncle is an old friend of mine and one of the Assizes judges for the county of Surrey."

So the handsome black-haired girl with the bold eyes was Miss Aylmer, the one who had spoken so freely about Mr. Knightley. The two sisters eyed Emma with dislike, which Emma returned.

Mr. Knightley continued with the introductions. "This is Miss Woodhouse of Hartfield, a property that borders on the Donwell estate. Miss Woodhouse's elder sister is married to my younger brother, John Knightley."

At Mr. Knightley's introduction, the unhappy expressions on the faces of the Misses Aylmers were replaced by smiles.

"Oh! Your sister!" said Miss Aylmer. "Well, that _is_ wonderful. I am delighted to meet you, Miss Woodhouse."

"I am not really a sister," Emma said quickly. "Technically, I am not a relation at all, except that our families are so close -"

"Of course, of course," chirped Miss Aylmer. "Mr. Knightley, we must all sit together, do you not think? We would so like to make the acquaintance of your sister – oh, I mean your _sister's_ sister." She giggled at her mistake.

"Absolutely, we must all sit together," said Mr. Aylmer. And he called over the servants to push the tables together.

When that was done, Emma noticed with irritation that the Misses Aylmers had seated themselves on either side of Mr. Knightley while she was stuck sitting with Mr. Aylmer, who seemed delighted by the arrangement.

"Miss Woodhouse, I must tell you, you are the loveliest thing I have seen in a long time. I did not hear Mr. Knightley mention a brother. Do you only have sisters then?"

"Yes, just the one older sister." Emma was distracted, trying to follow the conversation across the table from her. The young ladies appeared to be cooing over Mr. Knightley's curricle and telling him how beautiful it was. Was _that_ the real reason he had purchased a curricle? Perhaps it had nothing to do with her advice after all!

"Ah. And why have I not seen you in Town before now?"

"I live alone with my father, and he is in ill health. He goes very seldom from home."

"Oh, that is too bad," Mr. Aylmer's face melted into sympathy. "That must be hard for him to look after a great estate with poor health – or perhaps he has an heir who can help out?"

"No, we do not have an estate, just the home farm. My grandfather had a very large one, but it was decided because of my father's health that it should be sold, so his fortune and mine are entirely in the funds," said Emma, scarcely aware of what she said. Miss Aylmer was leaning closely to Mr. Knightley, practically pressing her bosom on his arm.

"Ah!" said Mr. Aylmer. And he drew his chair closer.

He continued to pepper her with questions, which Emma answered as best she could, which was not well. Miss Aylmer now had her hand on Mr. Knightley's arm and was laughing softly and looking into his eyes. When Mr. Aylmer had to repeat the same question twice, Emma suddenly snapped out of her reverie.

 _At this rate, he will be telling his sisters I am insufferably stupid and they will write me off as Mr. Knightley's dull country sister_ , Emma thought. _I must make an effort_.

Emma turned to Mr. Aylmer with a dazzling smile and asked sweetly whether he preferred the Town to the country. There ensued a spirited discussion about the relative merits of each that induced hilarity that in Emma's opinion was far out of proportion to the actual wit displayed. Nevertheless, she thought she kept the conversation going very creditably. Clearly Mr. Aylmer thought so. He had completely disregarded his tea and was now lolling across the table gazing soulfully at her.

"It is time to go, Emma. Your sister will be worried about where you are," said Mr. Knightley abruptly, standing up.

Emma looked up at Mr. Knightley, surprised at his imperious, almost uncivil tone.

He said more courteously to the Aylmers. "Excuse me. I look forward to seeing you tonight at your uncle's home. But I must get Emma to her sister. Mrs. John Knightley has a tendency to imagine disaster when things do not happen as planned."

"What a shame to lose your enchanting company so soon after I have acquired it, Miss Woodhouse!" said Mr. Aylmer with a warm smile at Emma. "Perhaps Mr. Knightley might consider bringing you to tonight's soiree?"

Emma opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Mr. Knightley's emphatic "No!"

They all turned to look at him in surprise. "I mean," he continued, "This is Miss Woodhouse's first visit to her sister's. My brother and his wife no doubt have something special planned."

"Of course," said Mr. Aylmer. "Another time, then, Miss Woodhouse, now that you have found your way to Town. I will depend on Mr. Knightley for assistance in furthering our acquaintance."

"Yes, another time," Miss Aylmer showed all her teeth as she smiled brilliantly at Emma. "I am sure we will have many opportunities to come to know you, Miss Woodhouse, situated so close as you are to Donwell Abbey."

Emma almost gaped in outrage at Miss Aylmer's implication. She was already seeing herself established as Mistress of Donwell! She looked at Mr. Knightley, hoping he would set her straight, but he simply looked grim. Emma's heart sank. So it must be true, then!

They finished their farewells and Mr. Knightley ushered her out to the courtyard where the curricle and pair were waiting. They took their seats and rode in silence for a long time, Emma too oppressed by her own feelings to notice Mr. Knightley's air of gloom.

She kept picturing over and over Miss Aylmer laughing up at Mr. Knightley, her hand on his arm, and his slight smile in return. _Is that why he warned me that it was time for him to marry?_ Emma wanted to cry in vexation.

At length, Mr. Knightley broke the silence, saying in a strained tone, "I suppose you liked the Aylmers, Emma?"

 _No, I never wish to see them again. I hope they sink to the bottom of the ocean._ But she could not be impolite. They might be his new family.

"Oh, yes, they were lovely!" She forced a smile.

"Isabella has been saying for some time that she wished you could be introduced to a wider acquaintance," he said in the same strange, oppressed tone. "The Aylmers are a good family, with a fine estate in Kent, and Sir Winston and his lady are very kind people. Young Mr. Frederick is the only son. They are a sought after family, much better than the Churchills in my mind. I have mostly seen them in Town only, in the company of their uncle, but I suppose I could take you for a visit to Sir Winston's country estate in the curricle if you wish. Your father seems to feel you are safe in my hands."

Was he asking for her approval of his marriage? Her heart cried out against it, but she said, "Yes, I would like that very much."

"Hm." He fell silent. They were in London now, the horses walking through the busy streets, but Emma had no heart for the novelties or spectacles that Town would have normally afforded.

"Here we are."

She looked up at the handsome terrace home that was #11 Brunswick Square. Her sister's home.

The footmen came running out to help them and Mr. Knightley jumped down to offer his hand to Emma. She took his hand, his dear, dear hand, and let him lead her to the door. Her sister was there, all smiles, holding the baby and surrounded by excited nieces and nephews screaming "Auntie! Auntie Emma!"

Mr. Knightley greeted Isabella with affection and tossed each of the young nephews and nieces up and caught them again. Then he turned to Emma. She stared into his eyes, his beautiful, beautiful eyes.

"Good-bye," he said, and lifted his hat to her. "I hope you have a good visit. I will see you tomorrow."

"Yes. Have a good evening with the Aylmers."

She turned, her arms full of baby Emma, and watched as he jumped lightly into the curricle and took the reins from the footman. She watched until the shiny new curricle rolled down the street, until it disappeared around a corner.

Emma Woodhouse was in love at last, and in some doubt of a return.


End file.
